Set Fire to the Third Bar
by tore-my-yellow-dress
Summary: Forever, she thinks, is a gorgeous thing. Post 5x15. Fix-it fic.


She doesn't lose it until she sees the hole dug, sees the dirt and imagines the casket being lowered, imagines his body lost beneath feet of crushing mud. It's raining, like it always is. April showers, and she imagines him banging on his coffin to be let out, imagines him begging her not to let him go. She imagines unimaginable things, like taking a razor blade to her wrists or swallowing a bottle of pills.

She doesn't lose it until that moment, but when half of it goes, it all goes.

Alicia opens her mouth to scream.

.

.

.

Wakes in a cold sweat, the gentlest hands touching her face, smoothing her hair.

"Hey," Will hushes her. "Hey, shh."

His eyes are open wide in the darkness of their bedroom, leaned over her so close that she can feel his heart thump beneath his breast, even with all the shaking, even with the muted sobs falling from her lips. "It was just a bad dream, Alicia," he murmurs, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"It's not real," he tells her.

"It was," she breaks out, closes her eyes as the tears stream freely. "It felt so real."

He sits up against the headboard, still groggy but more alert, can sense the panic still coming off of her in waves. It makes his head hurt, makes his shoulders rise, and Will pulls her against him, makes him her tether, because she's always been his touchstone. Was his touchstone, when blood was pouring from his neck, when unspoken, desperate words, confessions and impossibly beautiful things were at his lips.

It's only natural that she curls against him, only natural that he rocks her like a child to soothe.

_I am here, and you are here, and this is real, _he expresses, with his kisses against her temple, into the crown of her dark, silky hair. It shines in the moonlight. Alicia's trembling grip fumbles for his shirt, pulls it up and finds the marking, finds the truth. The scar is tender to touch, and Will's stomach muscles roll.

"Shh," he says again, finding her movements and gripping her wrists.

Guides her to touch his face, guides her so that he can kiss her open palms, kiss the pulse of her wrists.

"It's always the same," Alicia croaks. "Bad timing _wins, _and there's that stupid voicemail and I don't know what it means, and you're gone. You're gone, and I'm all alone, and I can't even tell you how much I-

"Alicia," he cuts her off, sharper. He moves her face, tilts her chin so that he can look into her pretty green eyes, can convey every ounce of conviction he has, as a man. "I'm alive. I'm not going to leave you. I'm right here."

He knows she needs to hear it. "I love you," he leans in, whispers in the shell of her ear.

Alicia whimpers, turns her head against his neck.

Whispers against _that _pink, puckered mar, the one that almost ruined everything, the one that almost tore everything apart, left him pints of blood short, left hospital rooms and rushing cars and blurs of red and pastel blue. There's a reason Alicia doesn't wear crimson anymore.

There's a reason Will Gardner dislikes the color on her, these days.

"It was so close," she gasps, heaves with emotion, into his neck, throws her arms around his shoulders and clings. It's unjustly humid, for a summer night in the windy city. Thunder rolls in, and Will can hear it, knows a storm is coming. He holds the only woman he's ever loved, and he tries to kiss her awake.

Tries to kiss her back to reality, slips his tongue into her mouth and inhales like a man who's been dead, who cherishes each breath like it might be his last.

"I love you so much," Alicia murmurs, choking on the feeling, knowing this inexplicable _want _is skin deep, is crawling up her windpipe and sitting at the back of her throat, like a thousand nerves tingling all over her body, some age old accountability. A candle burning in her hand, because he's here. He's alive, and they have a house, and this is _their _room, and he belongs to her.

She belongs to him. She belongs here.

"Alicia," Will says her name huskily, and she hoists her other leg over to straddle his lap. Raises herself up to hold him against her own heaving breasts, nipples tightening under the thin fabric of her nightgown. White. She's all in white, and Will looks at her in the darkness, with her cheeks still flushed, fresh from crying, and he thinks she's an angel. He thinks she's saved him.

He knows he's trying to make up for it, running his hands up her soft sides, settling on cradling her hipbones. What he doesn't know is that every time Alicia closes her eyes and sees a flock of birds and broken things, caskets and black—

He saves her, too.

He saves her when he wakes up. He saves her by breathing. By being.

/

Will licks a line up the curve of neck, and pulls her nightgown up to expose milky white. Sucks at one firm, rosy bud and listens to her moan, all throat, feels her begin to undulate against him. He keeps his hands caressing her shoulder blades, moves to his knees, moves her back.

Lays her down, watches her get comfortable, splayed against the sheets.

She looks up at him with hooded eyes, mouth parted, and it takes his breath away, knowing she is his, like this. It's all for him, and she's slick when he slips his fingers into the coarse, dark hair, parts her folds; waits. Alicia shudders, grasping for him, pulling him against her, but he doesn't give.

Instead, he takes her wrists like he did minutes ago, pushes them against the mussed bedspread, and holds her down. His breath in her ear, his eyes staring deep into her own- and she doesn't squirm, or try and break free from his hold.

Alicia feels him lower himself and feels something unfurling in her chest. When he begins to slide, she feels tears building behind her eyelids, knowing and wanting and _trusting, _and he's here. She knows he's here, with her, and it's the most simple thing, but it means so much, and-

"Deep," she whispers so softly. It's only for him to hear, these broken pleas. "I want you deep. And slow," Alicia adds, bites her tongue and furrows her brows in concentration, arches her back to get closer, to get more. "I want-

"Shh," Will stops her, narrowing his eyes and capturing her lips in a delving touch. He doesn't let go of her wrists, and it doesn't frustrate her, doesn't make her physically defy him for more. His biceps twinge, supporting himself, but he braces his legs against the wood of the headboard and pushes, pushes until Alicia whines into his mouth, finally makes some movement that proves her stomach is tightening, that it's-

It's almost perfect, and sweat drips down his neck. He hasn't even started moving yet, but he knows that's not what she needs, that's not what she's wanting. Eventually, he lets go of her, places his palms by her head to gain leeway.

He rocks instead of thrust, short, quick movement, and Alicia's exhales in puffs, hands moving to scratch up his back, feels the muscles quiver as he works. Will grunts at the control it takes not to lengthen his movements, grunts at the feel of her sliding warmth. "Yes," Alicia tries to assert, nose pressed against his cheekbone, old tears rubbing from her eyelashes. "Oh. _Oh," _she groans, toes curling, because he angles upward, angles and she comes, quickly.

Her eyelids flutter when she opens her mouth wide in a scream that doesn't break because he moves quickly, covers her mouth with his hand to muffle it. "Shh," he keeps telling her, even as he shakes with his own unkempt need. Will spills himself inside her, tries to move off of her so that he doesn't crush her, but-

"Stay right here," she half growls, eyes wild. "Your weight feels good."

Will's chest expands with a sigh, pecks the tip of her nose, and all she can think is solid, is keeping.

"_You_ feel good."

/

Later, she watches him sleep, his head against her chest. Listens to the sprinkle of rain against the windows, some quiet reprieve. Alicia runs her fingers through his hair and listens to the sound of him living, a smile curving her lips. She's lifetimes away from crying in an empty bed, alone and wanting. Lifetimes away from funerals, from missing his love like a limb.

Alicia has never been more grateful for reality. Falls asleep in peace, because she doesn't need dreams.

Two halves make a whole, and there, she realizes that finding permanence isn't a place.

He is here, and she is here, and they are_ home_.

/

Forever, she thinks, is gorgeous thing.


End file.
